White Silence
by Shipperwolf
Summary: Sara's life after the conspiracy is going well, but the man she loves is no longer himself.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own the chars of pb. i just love to play with them oh so much.

I've no idea where this fic came from, but i hope all who read like it!

hugs to all!

* * *

Never before had Sara been in such a bright building.

Every table in the waiting room had a brilliantly colored lamp on it, shining with what seemed to be 75-watt bulbs.

If those weren't enough, the chandelier above her head glistened with faux crystals, sending small rainbows across the walls and reminding her of a pediatric doctor's office.

Her fingers drummed anxiously on the hardback book she had been reading for the past hour. She wondered if they were having to take special precautions before letting her see him.

Sadness suddenly overwhelmed her heart.

Could he really be considered dangerous now?

Even to her?

That couldn't be possible.

But then again…

So much had changed since that day seven months ago.

Her title restored, her new job secured, everything in HER life was finally coming back together. But before the evidence her father had given her was reviewed and used to end their turmoil, tragedy had struck the brothers.

It hit one person in particular the hardest.

The very person she was going to visit this day, for the first time since he was sent here to live out the remainder of his life.

Lincoln's murder was painful to all of them, even her. And Sara would admit, she hadn't really known him all too well.

But seeing the reaction on his brother's face, as the shot rang out and the blood dampened the ground, it gripped and tore at her heart.

She recalled how his eyes had grown wide, and his lips opened wide to scream in horror at the sight of his bother falling limp. It was a sound she never wanted to hear again. It was bloodcurdling and painful, both physically and emotionally.

He had then swayed as if about to faint, and his knees literally buckled beneath him, sending them to crash into the cement they stood on.

She had rushed down to grasp his shoulders, shaking him desperately to bring him back to reality.

And he had, for just a moment, just time enough to keep anyone else from dying.

His tearful eyes grew sharp and angry, and while one arm wrapped around her waist as she pulled him to his feet, the other whipped around to his back to grab the gun that rested in his jeans.

Another shot deafened Sara's ears, but she could still hear him screaming while pulling the trigger.

All was silent then, and she looked up from the shoulder her head was buried in to see the man fall not twenty feet behind Lincoln's body. L.J was sobbing into her back, and it was the only sound she heard until the sirens began wailing in the distance.

That scream was the last thing anyone had ever heard come from Michael Scofield's mouth.

After the evidence cleared, the courts granted leniency on them, but the judge still had no choice but to send Michael away.

Not to prison. Not to house-arrest.

Here. This place.

The bright, colorful building she sat in now.

She still couldn't believe it.

"Miss Tancredi? You can see him now."

Her head shot up from the blurred pages of the book as she snapped back to the present. A door to her left opened, and an older woman with a warm smile motioned her to follow.

More bright lights hung from the ceiling of the long hallway.

If she didn't know better, she would have felt like she was in heaven, walking to the gates of St. Peter himself.

But no, she was certainly not dead.

She was very much alive, and had a young man by the name of Lincoln Jr. to care for now.

He wanted to come on this first visit. But she didn't think it was a good idea.

Not until she saw for herself just how bad it was.

"Here we are. You're free to go inside and speak with him, he hasn't shown any violence to anyone in the time that he's been here. But…don't expect much, Miss Tancredi…he doesn't speak."

The woman, whose nametag read "Donna", pointed her toward the large window to her right.

Two more steps forward, and there he was.

Sitting behind the glass, dressed in white, no cuffs or chains.

Sitting quietly, calmly…blankly.

Michael Scofield barely raised his head when she opened the door to his psyche room.


	2. Chapter 2

okee, here's ch 2! once an idea for a 3rd comes to mind i shall post! soo...you might have to wait. lol! huggles ppl --nikki

* * *

A small exhalation was the only sound that pierced the quiet room Sara had entered.

It, too, was blinding, with not even dark corners to hide in.

It was completely and brilliantly lit, to ensure the patient could be seen at all times.

But if that was the case, could it mean that they never turned the lights off?

Sleeping in the light.

That would be terrible.

And Sara was sure that wasn't possible.

Unless….unless Michael had tried to hurt himself.

No….she couldn't think about things like that.

Slowly, carefully, she approached the table that the once confident fugitive sat at. His eyes had lifted once her way as she had walked in, but now, they were focused downward, at his work.

Coming ever closer, she realized what he was distracting him.

Michael bent over the table top, fiddling with a piece of paper.

Rustling filled the room, along with his soft and steady breathing.

Paper cranes covered the desk.

Sara didn't understand their significance exactly, but she knew if he was so meticulous about them, they probably had some connection with Lincoln.

Perhaps Linc had made those for him in the past?

She wanted to ask him.

But that wouldn't go well….at all.

Besides that, upon looking closer at the paper in Michael's hands , she noticed that he wasn't making a crane at all.

A leaf protruded from his fingers, followed by red petals.

It was a flower, identical to the one he'd made her so long ago.

Sara's breath caught, and tears threatened to well up in her eyes.

This was a sign that Michael had registered who she was, that he remembered her. He'd known exactly who she was when she walked through his door.

A warmth filled her chest.

It was possible that Michael was not as far gone as everyone thought.

And she was here to prove it.

The rose complete, the quiet artist raised his head to look up at her, pushing the flower across the table. However, he offered no words, no smile, nothing to show any attempt at communication with her.

Just a small gift, to let her know he hadn't forgotten her.

Sara sat in a chair across from him and twirled the smooth paper between her fingers. Michael's eyes had left her, and were again downcast.

He began to reach for another sheet, preparing to make more origami….

"Michael."

His hand froze in the air.

And a small sound emitted from his throat.

It seemed to be a cough at first, as if he had choked on air.

But the tone was light, and small.

Like a whimper.

Michael had whined at the sound of his name.

She suddenly wanted to jump across the table and throw her arms around him.

She wanted to grasp at the back of his shirt and sob into his chest.

She wanted to cry for him, so he wouldn't have to.

But Sara refrained. She was not here to break down in front of a mental patient. Especially not this one.

She had to be as strong as her female emotions would allow.

She had to steel herself against a complete weep-fest.

Almost afraid to speak again, for fear of pushing him too far, Sara sat back in her chair, and was quiet for a few moments.

She watched him, and assessed her next move.

Michael was bent over as before, but this time he was not folding paper.

He wasn't doing anything.

His hands were balled into fists and were braced on the top of the desk, within reach of her own.

His head was so far down his forehead was nearly touching the metal.

A metal table….maybe they were scared he would splinter himself to death if they gave him wooden furniture?

She wanted so badly to get him out of this place.

She had to make a connection.

Something, anything, a verbal reaction to show he wasn't insane.

But deep in the most denied parts of her mind, she reminded herself that he was here or a reason.

He was diagnosed as insane.

So could it really be true?

There was only one way to find out.

Her hand moved forward.

The lightest brush of skin followed as fingers met his knuckles.

And she received a reaction she hadn't expected.

Faster than she could comprehend, paper cranes flew into the air around her.

The table toppled over as Michael reared back, nearly stumbling as he jumped from his chair. He seemed so desperate to get away….

From her…

"Michael! Michael, calm down."

For just a moment Sara was afraid. Not that he would hurt her, but that he was frightened of her.

Like a child fearing the dark, the man she had admitted to loving more than half a year ago backed away quickly, meeting the edge of his bed and falling back onto it. He pushed himself against the wall and stared at her as if SHE had been the one who'd died, and had returned now as a ghost to haunt him.

"Michael? Please, Michael…it's just me. You know who I am, I know you do. Say it….say my name…"

She whispered a prayer to a God she had once lost faith in as she waited.

If he could say it, it would be the first word spoken from his mouth in seven months. It would be a breakthrough that could lead to amazing progress…and maybe, someday….

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

A moment later, Donna emerged briskly into the room, rushing to Michael's bedside to check on him.

He turned away from the nurse, and from Sara, closing his eyes and pretending to sleep sitting up.

Sara feared she'd angered the staff member. If so…they could keep her from visiting him.

But relief washed over her as that kind smile met Sara's eyes.

Donna motioned to the open doorway.

"He was just startled, Miss Tancredi. You're his first visitor. I'm sure the more you come the better he'll get."

The more she comes….exactly the words she wanted to hear.

A sad smile splayed on her face as she looked back at the huddled form on the bed, and walked slowly out of the room.

* * *

The lights dimmed around Michael the moment the door clacked shut.

A paper rose gripped tightly in his shaking hand, he choked on his own words as he uttered them for the first time in months…

"Come back, Sara…."


	3. Chapter 3

okee, ch 3 up! i switched POVs for thisun, to get some insight into mikey's sanity(or insanity?)

enjoy, and plz review or make suggestions for ch 4!!

* * *

The lights around him flickered to life, and Michael knew exactly what came next.

"Good morning, Mr. Scofield. Med time."

It was the same every day, and every time it reminded him of the Psyche Ward in Fox River. Only this time he didn't refuse the pills. He accepted them willingly. Just as he accepted his "diagnosis".

He was crazy, they said. "Clinically insane", was the term they'd used to explain it to him.

He could understand why they would think him unfit for the outside world. In the moment that he saw his brother's blood stain the ground beneath his feet, everything Michael had worked for was thrown away.

His brother was gone.

And it was his fault. Oftentimes he wondered if Lincoln would have been better off in the chair. Instead of saving his life, proving his innocence and gaining his freedom, all that he had accomplished was to raise his brother's hopes, and then have them shot down…literally.

It was a moment he would never forget, and one he could never forgive himself for.

Perhaps that was why he stopped speaking. Even now he couldn't understand his reasons. He just suddenly found it easier to keep silent rather than respond to the simplest of questions.

"How are you today?"

"Are you hungry?"

"Are you feeling alright?"

Such mindless banter was beyond him now.

After Lincoln's death, all he had wanted was peace and quiet.

He just wanted to be left alone. He had gotten his wish, and now he was regretting it.

Because yesterday someone he thought had forgotten him walked back into his life.

Sara.

Even after so long, she remembered him. And what was more important: she knew he wasn't crazy.

Not in the untreatable sense anyhow.

Sara had come to him, and shown him the truth. He truly wanted peace, but not this way.

He wanted to live again, laugh again, and…he wanted to love again.

Guilt struck him as he swallowed his anti-depressants.

In the midst of losing his brother, he had allowed his feelings for Sara fade from his mind. He took his love and need and passion and stored them away in the darkest corner of his heart, hoping to shield himself from the pain of knowing he would never have the chance to tell her of these emotions.

But now…he had his chance.

Now, all he needed was time.

"Your friend called just a few minutes ago…"

Michael's head shot up from his cup as he made direct eye-contact with Donna, something hardly dared or wanted to do.

"She said she'd be coming by to see you again this afternoon. Are you going to try being a bit more calm with her this time, Michael?"

The tone in her voice aggravated him. He liked the old woman, but sometimes he wanted to break his code of silence and tell her to stop talking to him like he was five.

And every time he restrained his voice box. Every time he merely nodded his response.

It wasn't worth saying, because she, like everyone else, thought he was mentally unstable.

Everyone, that is, except Sara.

She was his salvation from this place. If he could get her to visit at least a few times a week, he could "make the social progress" necessary to have the doctors looking twice at his diagnosis. Perhaps during this time with her, he could eventually swallow his pain and be honest, about everything. But that would come later.

Today he would try speaking, but only a few words at most.

No rush, for either of them.

This would be hard enough as it was. Although he wasn't a psycho, he wasn't dumb enough to think he didn't have problems.

Michael knew he was messed up.

But it was something he could heal himself, with the right assistance. With HER assistance.

Donna's light voice broke through his thought-barrier again.

"I brought you another book, it's some kind of supernatural something-or-other. I thought maybe you'd like some diversity in your reading.

Miss. Tancredi said she'd be visiting around two o'clock. I'll see you for lunch, okay?"

And with that, she was waving goodbye as she always did, acting as if she wouldn't be back for days, when it was really only hours before lunchtime. The door clamped shut behind her, and Michael sat alone.

The silence he had lived so contently with for this long now deafened his ears and threatened a migraine.

He longed to hear Sara's voice again. This was going to be a long and mind-splitting day.

And all he had was a paperback copy of "Women of the Otherworld" to pass the hours away.

For the first time in the months he'd been in "the nuthouse", Michael truly felt like he was going to go nuts.


	4. Chapter 4

Heya ppls! So sorry it took so long to update this, but i've been hella busy. This will be the final chappy of this story, hope you like it! Happy New Year to all!!-Kik

* * *

The poorly cooked cheeseburger lay uneaten on the cafeteria tray beside his bed. His anxiety was so intense, Michael had to force a few fries down his throat, just to keep Donna off his back. The clock read one-thirty…he had no idea when Sara was coming, exactly, but he wished it was sooner rather than later. His eyes itched to see her again.

Drumming restless fingers against the plastic of the tray, his mind wandered through the many short-lived memories he had of her. From the day they met in the infirmary, to that horrible moment when Lincoln was killed…and she had held him.

The unsteady tray nearly toppled when the door to his room opened. Michael's eyes shot toward the sound of footsteps…but his brow furrowed when Donna entered.

"Done with lunch? Oh…come on now, you barely ate! You'll be starving by supper, Michael." The old lady's concern for him was touching, but he still would not make the effort to speak to her.

His words, for now, would be directed to one person only…

And that one person had just now stepped into the doorway.

His pulse seemed to beat through his ears, throat, and wrists as she took a few hesitant steps into the room.

Donna gathered the cold lunch tray and nodded in Sara's direction.

"Now if he tries to act out like he did last time, just press that button over by the doorknob. Someone'll come right away. I don't think you have anything to worry about though, Michael's never tried to hurt a fly in this place."

Sara seemed to find the nurse's words laughable. A small grin splayed onto her features as she held open the door for Donna.

"I know he wouldn't. Everything will be fine, thank you."

With a soft click the door closed, leaving Michael and Sara alone once again. How he wished they could be somewhere else, in a movie theatre or a ridiculously high-priced restaurant.

Not here, in a mental home. In a white room that looked and felt lifeless. But here they were, and the only thing he could do was make the best of it.

If only the tension would dissipate…

"Michael?" The word registered as barely a whisper, spoken with caution to test his current mentality.

He offered only a nod to show her he was listening.

Why he didn't answer, he was not sure.

The moment needed to come, when the right words were hovering on his tongue and he knew exactly what to say. Right now they were straining in his throat, burning for release.

Michael motioned for her to sit next to him on the edge of the bed. A desperate move, it seemed, but he was past the point of desperation now.

He HAD to end this silence…

He registered the weight on the bed beside him as she sat.

She was so calm, even after what had happened the previous day.

It was as if she'd completely forgotten it…..

Michael would get it right this time.

He would make sure that there was no need for a 'third time's the charm' scenario.

Sara smiled and seemed to be waiting with infinite patience.

And he had absolutely no idea what to say.

"I hope you're feeling better today, Michael."

He was relieved and frustrated at the same time upon hearing her words.

She was trying to make some kind of conversation, with a man that was thought to be mute. And yet, the way she said it, made him feel the full weight of her pity towards him. He didn't want her sympathy. He didn't want her to treat him like everyone else in the building did…

Like a mental patient.

She had to know.

He had to tell her.

"I'm not crazy…" For the first time in seven long months, he spoke to another living being.

Sara's eyes grew wide the moment she realized the whisper had come from him. Her mouth fell open for a hair of a second, before her lips closed and raised in the slightest of smiles.

"I knew that months ago when they put you in here. It's good to hear your voice, Michael."

Relief hit him like a category 5 hurricane. He had never been so happy to speak to someone.

Now, he felt as if thousands of different sentences were threatening to come rushing forth. And many of them started with 'I missed you, I love you….'.

Michael swallowed the latter part down quickly.

"Sara. I…I'm glad you're here."

He nearly smacked himself for not telling her that he missed her…

But his words had the desired effect, because the woman next to him reached forward to place a hand on his.

Just like the previous day…

Her eyes bore into his with anticipation, watching him for any signs of panic on his part. He sat perfectly still, moving only to wrap his fingers around her own.

His breath caught in his throat.

But he made no move to run.

Sara's eyes lowered to their joined hands, softening visibly, but containing a hint of confusion. Michael knew exactly why.

"I'm sorry for what happened yesterday. It's been so long, that part of me insisted that I was just imagining you there. And then, when you touched me…" His voice trailed as she nodded.

"I moved too quickly. But, Michael…if the nurses could see how much progress you can make in just one day, they'd know what I know. That you don't belong in here."

A sudden nervousness settled in his stomach at her words.

Talking so easily to Sara was one thing-- if there was ever anyone who could make him feel comfortable it would be her-- but….Donna, his doctor, the judge who sent him to this he really speak to them like this? After living in silence for over half-a-year?

"I don't know if I can, Sara. Not so easily. Maybe Donna, but…."

"Michael." Cutting him off Sara gripped his hand tighter in hers, getting his full attention and making him realize her insistence.

He forced himself not to stare at her lips as they moved.

"I'm not asking you to suddenly break out into friendly conversation with the staff right this second. But, please, listen to yourself. You aren't mute, and you aren't insane. Clinically depressed, yes. On the verge of manic depression, maybe. But not insane, Michael. You can be treated, you can go to therapy, and you can get out of this place. You just have to try."

Michael felt a familiar warmth tingle in his chest, the warmth that only Sara could cause, as he listened to her words of encouragement.

It was astounding how much faith she had in him, after not seeing or speaking to him in such a length of time.

In the seemingly never ending months he had spent in his little white room, Michael had lived in a self-constructed grave, a hole that trapped him in his own world of sadness and insecurity, so dark that not even the bright lights above him could seem to break through.

His nurses had tried to talk to him, work with him, and pull him out of the hole so many times before.

But none had succeeded. And now he knew why.

No-one could help him like Sara could.

It was just another reminder of what he felt for her, what they could have had…what they could still have. For the first time since his brothers' death, Michael smiled and felt something achingly close to contentment.

He and Sara sat in silence once again, but it was quiet moment of consideration and understanding. He felt his throat burn to say the three words that had been ringing in his mind for well over a year, but he knew to force them down as before.

It was not the time. But the time could come, he knew, now that Sara had walked back into his life and saved him.

"Sara."

He voice was smooth and clear now, re-energized with hope.

As her head raised from staring at their hands, Michael jerked forward on her arm.

And sighed in relief as they met in a much needed embrace.

"Thank you…"

He could feel the stray tear fall down her cheek onto his, but he did not move to wipe it away.

It was probably the first time Sara had cried out of joy, and he would not take that feeling away from her.

Instead he buried his face into her shortened auburn hair and breathed deep, the scent reminding him that she was there, and she was real, and one day, if he tried, he could walk out of this brightly lit room with her forever.

Michael opened his eyes and looked up.

The room has never looked so bright before this day.


End file.
